


The Goblin's Glass

by maggiemerc



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Adventure, F/F, Memory Loss, Romance, post episode
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-12-16
Updated: 2014-02-21
Packaged: 2018-01-04 20:24:14
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 15,359
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1085324
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/maggiemerc/pseuds/maggiemerc
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Regina has joined forces with the besotted Captain Hook to return Emma and Henry's memories, stop a Snow Queen and a Wicked Witch and hopefully, maybe, save the world. But first she has to pretend she's Henry's new teacher and get Emma Swan, who never trusts anyone, to trust in her.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> So I'd been toying with an idea for another fic and then this mid-season finale came and that fic has become this glorious beast. Enjoy! I hope. And as always, feedback is excepted with open arms and squeals of delight.

**Chapter One**

She sipped her coffee--so hot as to scald and roasted just past burning and brimming with artificial cream--and watched his reaction to what she'd outlined.

"It's a terrible plan."

She raised one eyebrow and tried not to look amused. "And you getting kneed in the groin was a good plan?"

He shifted uncomfortably, the ice on his groin rattling loudly. "It wasn't supposed to end up that way."

"No. Of course not. She was supposed to go doe eyed over the strange man kissing her good morning."

"You pretending to be Henry's teacher isn't much better. What happens when you kidnap her son?"

"Nothing because I'm not going to kidnap **my** son. I'm going to just…connect with him."

He didn't believe her and looked as skeptic as everyone else had when she'd announced her plan to return.

"Really," she insisted.

Finally he shrugged, "I suppose it **did** work before."

Before being Emma and Henry forging a connection over a book and finding proof in an ill-timed apple turnover.

"And it will work again. I'm his mother."

"And I was her…"

"Whatever. Don't compare them. Ten years trumps half a month of stupid looks **any** day."

He fiddled with his ice and grimaced again. "Fine. But first thing's first. What say we get out of these conspicuous clothes? People are staring."

"Because you're icing your crotch.

"Or because your dress is cut so low I can nearly see areola."

True. Her numerous petticoats, mile high hair and excellent eye makeup and his eye liner and in-serious-need-of-a-dry-cleaners coat **were** a little conspicious. 

"Fine." She stood and helped him to his feet, enjoying his loud groan of pain.

Then they bolted out on the check as neither of them had any of the currency necessary for the two stacks of pancakes, eggs, juice and coffee they'd just imbibed. Regina hiked up her skirts and Hook ran bow legged and both of them silently agreed with a near telepathic look to never discuss the image they'd presented to the world **ever** again.

Then they robbed a Macy's.

 

####

"What's the matter kid?"

Henry wasn't surly--because her son was never surly. But he was definitely thoughtful and staring back at the school.

"We got a new teacher today."

She raised an eyebrow. "Not the teacher's pet anymore?"

He rolled his eyes. "No, that's not it." He'd **always** be the teacher's pet. She had no idea where he got it from. "She's just…I don't know." He frowned.

"Scary," she prodded, "Creepy?"

"No." And he didn't elaborate on what she actually was, just kept looking out the bug's window at the school entrance.

Emma looked over his head and tried to spy the teacher that was making her son so--so **pensive.**

"Which one is she," she stage whispered. She was close enough that they were cheek to cheek. He was getting old enough to hate it when she did it--but not old enough to tell her no.

Yet.

Henry pressed his finger into the glass. "There," he said. "In the expensive coat."

And she saw her.

Her back was to them and her arms crossed as she talked to two other teachers. Wind racing down the narrow street caught in her dark hair and she raised a hand to tuck it back behind her ear. Then she turned and Emma got her first full look of the woman in her slate gray coat and long slacks and too high high heels. Too sleek and clean cut, and the coat alone must have been worth--

" **That's** your new teacher?"

Henry nodded.

"Doesn't dress like any of my teachers ever did." Ever.

"She's a writer or something. I think she's just here for the semester. She's **really** good at teaching."

And her kid's school was **really** too fancy. Hiring professional writers to teach middle school English? If the place didn't have a reputation for getting kids into Ivy Leagues she never would have even had him there.

The teacher seemed to realize she was being stared at because one moment Emma was studying the woman and wondering what the hell kind of writer took that kind of job and the next she was looking into dark eyes that reflected the low hanging sun like polished stone.

She didn't even realize she'd sighed until Henry turned around to look at her.

Emma couldn't put a finger on what was going on inside of her. It wasn't terror. And it wasn't happiness. It was **complicated** and it ached and felt good and whatever else it was it was feelings. Raw and potent.

The teacher's eyes seemed to water and then she blinked and the unshed tears were gone and she was smiling incadescently.

Maybe at her and Henry. Maybe at nothing.

Emma blindly reached for the stick to shift the car into gear and the whole Bug leapt forward as it went into first.

She chanced a glance back in the rearview as they drove away. The woman's gloved hand was up to her temple, holding her hair at bay so it would get in her face while she stared after them looking…

Maybe like she had the same gamut of **stuff** exploding inside of her. Emma rounded the corner and pushed it from her head.

"You want to do chicken tonight?"

"Fried?"

"No sir. I feel the need to bake."

Henry agreed and Emma started planning a dinner. Something a little too extravagant for a Monday night and perfect for pushing away thoughts of sleek teachers with shining eyes and smiles that could leave a person breathless.

 

####

"I saw them." 

She kicked her shoes off and slumped into the other chair in their underfurnished kitchen. 

"Both of them?"

She groaned as all the blood rushed back into her toes. Heels that high would **not** be worn in the future while teaching. She didn't have Mary Margaret's gigantic peasant feet to handling the standing all day.

"Yes. Henry during class and Emma afterwards. She picks him up from school--though what she's doing driving in a city with the finest public transportation known to man is beyond me--"

"Hey! Details--not another rant about that beast underground."

Of course. She nodded. "Henry is a straight A student and very serious but prone to daydreaming. His mother is single, a well-paid private detective and…"

She smiled.

"And they're **happy** Hook. They're both happy." They'd looked like a family watching her from their car. A small and content and cohesive unit.

Hook grimaced. "And here we are out to destroy that happiness."

It was a lance of pain straight through Regina's middle. "If they knew they'd help," she countered. She sounded far, far more sure then she'd ever feel about the matter.

He sighed and pushed back from the table. "Aye, and if they knew I wouldn't be working on this bloody book." He waved with his hook down at the paper and pens she'd purchased for him with the advance from her first paycheck.

The idea was…the idea was to give Henry a book. A storybook that told him the truth with fairytales and pictures and provided answers for a longing she could only hope he felt. 

It had worked before and Regina had hoped that it would work again. She'd present him with the book and he'd see the life he and Emma had once lived and it would all **click**. 

They could be a family and they could deal with what waited for them beyond magic barriers and all would be well.

But there were problems.

One. Regina's original spell may have made Henry **too** happy. She'd never planned to come back and had built no backdoor because it would have been a cruel and senseless thing to do. Her son had a quick smile now and a jocularity with his many friends that he'd **never** had when she'd been his sole parent.

Two. Regina wasn't the best writer to ever put pen to paper and the narrative flow was off.

Most importantly. Three. Hook was a **miserable** artist.

"I've seen the portraits of Emma you've got all over your stupid ship. How is this that difficult?"

"You asked me to draw the final moments of the last curse. That was just a--" he waved his hand around-- "cloud. How the hell am I supposed to illustrate that?"

"I don't know--show us watching them from the cloud?"

He quickly sketched something into the blob she took for a cloud.

"Not **yourself**. Henry barely knows you."

"Emma knows me."

"Her knee knows your groin. That's different."

"Maybe if I had some prose to go off of that wasn't so bloody purple. You're trying to make the boy's memories click, not put him to sleep."

"What's wrong with what I wrote?"

"There's more adjectives then sentence."

"I'm describing what happen."

"Wonder you ever get anything done if your head has to go through that many words just to form a bloody--"

She thumped him.

" **Very** mature your majesty."

"Oh whatever. Draw me. Or us. Or Mary Margaret and David for all I care! Just something that will click for **Henry**. I'm going to the store to by groceries."

"You only just got back."

"And if I have to listen to your copyediting I'll murder someone." She slipped a pair of tennis shoes on that clashed terribly with her pants but felt **wonderful**. "You want anything in particular for dinner?"

"A writing partner with talent?"

"Arsenic?"

"Oreos?"

Sure. Oreos. She did a double take at his hopeful expression. "Really?"

"I like the creme in the middle." He illustrated with his hook, spinning it in a little circle. 

 

####

The woman at the other end of the aisle was putting a **lot** of reduced fat Oreos in her cart. Enough that Emma opened her mouth to make a crack about the gym just because you didn't buy that many packages of the crappy Oreos without a story.

Then she saw her face.

It was Henry's new teacher, her face screwed up in thought as she gleefully put every last bag of Oreos in her cart. She seem unware of Emma staring and jumped when she crept closer with her own cart and said "Sweet tooth?"

She looked up in such surprise her hand, honest to God, flew to her chest. "I--" she worked her mouth inertly, her eyes wide and almost starstruck. 

"Emma Swan, you're Henry's new teacher right?"

"I--"

"At St. Andrews on the Upper East Side?"

She nodded slowly, then her brain started working again. "Oh! Henry Swan right?"

"That's my son. He treating you all right?"

"Wonderfully," she nodded enthusiastically. "He's a brilliant, brilliant boy."

She tried a lopsided grin to get the woman to relax, "Yeah, I've no idea where he got it from."

"His mother I hope," she relaxed quick enough and flashed her own easy smile. It was sharp though--with something glinting just beneath the surface.

"Maybe." She glanced down at the woman's cart again, "So, I mean, I don't want to be rude, but what's up with the Oreos?"

"My roommate really like the cream in them."

"So you're getting them the ones with the really gross cream?"

"He also forgets to pay rent."

She grinned, "You're an evil genius."

The woman looked striken.

"That was a joke…" Most people would have used the gap to introduce themselves. Henry's teacher didn't. "Sorry," Emma said, "Henry's didn't actually say your name."

"Oh. Regina, Regina Mills."

"Okay, Regina Mills, you're an evil genius. In a good way."

"Is that a fact?"

"Sure. In fact, if Henry goes snotty when the testosterone starts pumping through him I'll have to remember that. He loves the cream in the middle too."

"Must be a guy thing."

"I like it too," she said with a shrug.

Regina looked down at the cookies, "You know? I do as well."

"You should get a bag of the good ones for yourself. Really rub it in by slipping a few into his bags. Will make him think he's going crazy."

She laughed, "Who's the evil genius now?"

"It can't be me. My laser sharks are still on layaway."

"And my evil lair is really more morally ambiguous," the side of Regina's mouth curled up when she said it. Like it was a conspiracy just between the two of them.

Emma, doing something she never did when running into people she sort of knew at the grocery story, motioned for Regina to join her. The other woman spun her cart around and they walked down the aisle.

"Judging from the excessive amounts of cookies I take it you live around here?"

"Very astute detctive." She smiled at Emma's surprise. It was  another private one. "Henry mentioned it at school. He's very proud of you."

"I'm just a P.I. that takes pictures of cheating spouses. Not like I'm a cop or something."

"Now. Maybe you could be sheriff one day."

"That could be fun. Except for the uniforms. They're a little too boxy for these hips."

Regina's eyes followed Emma's gesturing hands and then she stared longer than she'd wanted too, because she blinked in surprise and blushed.

It was Emma's turn to give a private smile. She still had it.

"What--uh how exactyly did you get into the PI business?"

"Want to know for one of your books?"

Regina cocked her head to the side, "I'm sorry?"

"Henry said you were a writer?"

"Oh. Yes. Technically. Not quite published yet."

"I **was** wondering what a published writer was doing teaching middle schoolers."

"Something wrong with teachers?" 

She felt her embarassement burn up her cheeks. "No. No. Definitely not. Teachers are fantastic."

"I'm just joking Emma. I knew what you meant."

"It's the coat--if you don't mind me saying. I know St. Andrews pays well but that's--it's a nice coat."

"Stole it from a department store at 3 am with a one armed pirate and a lot of luck."

Emma snorted. 

"But back to my question. Detective?"

"I was a bounty hunter first, but Henry was spending most of his time with babysitters when he wasn't in school. Detective was sort of a lateral move. Pay isn't as great, and I spend a lot more time sitting in my car lookig at people through camera lenses but," she shrugged.

"But you get to spend time with your son."

"Yeah."

"It's worth it." It wasn't a question.

"What about you? You have kids?"

It was the way the good humor drained from her face that struck Emma. Not the soft "not any more" or the downcast expression that followed. But that first initial shift from someone happy to someone totally, utterly

Lost.

"Sorry."

"Not like you're to blame." She took a deep breath. "And I write now. It’s good for me."

"And the roommate is he--" She forgot how to say "your husband/lover/special friend" and she almost--almost--created a hole with one hand and stuck her finger in it to illustrate.

But she didn't.

Regina laughed again--the ache dissolving. "God no. A friend. Barely. He's the illustrator for my book."

"Work and live together. That can be rough."

She agreed and motioned down at the cookies.

"What about you?"

"I've got Henry. That's all the family I need."

Regina smiled. One of those rare and genuine smiles Emma never saw in her line of work. "I'm glad," she said softly. "Truly."

They arrived at the check out aisle and Regina looked down at her cart, it was just cookies and canned peas and she blushed again. "I seemed to have forgotten how to shop."

"That does look a little starch heavy," Emma observed.

"I should go--" 

Regina started to back her cart away and out of the blue Emma heard herself call after her. "You want to get coffee?"

"Excuse me?"

"We get along, and I never get a chance to socialize with people besides Henry and clients. I know you're his teacher but--"

"Yes."

"Seriously?"

"I have a free period tomorrow at 2:30?" Henry was done with class at 3:30. That'd give Emma plenty of time to make it back.

"I'll meet you at the front of the school?"

"Perfect." She smiled again. This one a little tremulous, and she actually ducked her head in a half bow. "I'll see you tomorrow at 2:30 Miss Swan."

"It's a date."

She didn't see the way Regina froze mid bow at the word "date." And she didn't see the look of horror or confusion. She was too busy being happy.

A year in New York and she was **finally** making a friend her own age.

 

####

A coffee date was not a "date."

She knew this because…

Not because of movies. Coffee dates were always dates in movies.

And television.

And books.

But Emma Swan was straight.

Yes. That was it. Emma Swan was straight.

Regina was…well Regina wasn't a lesbian.

And Emma Swan had a line of suitors--or a pirate and a thief. She had people earnestly waiting for her that **hadn't** spent years hating her.

A coffee date, then, was just two people socializing. Perhaps talking about their lives and their hopes and their dreams and then at the end instead of kisses there could be major revelations involving magic and curses and a growing threat in a land that could have been Emma's home.

Hook was in the kitchen unloading the groceries and paused in between groans over the number of terrible cookies to poke is head in. "What happened?"

"What--nothing happened." She tugged at her sleeve. "Why would you think that?"

"You were gone for ages and all you bought were cookies, peas and hamburger meat. Something happened."

Damn it.

"I saw Emma."

"Again? Who's the stalker now?"

"At the grocery store! We sublet an apartment a block away and we're bound to run into her."

"We stole an apartment," he ammended, "We broke in and I changed the locks."  

They'd wordlessly agreed to limit their search to apartments near Emma and Henry. It put them both at ease but it had taken them ages to find someone out of town who wasn't looking for a subletter and then break in and pretend **they** were the subletters. It was a fairly private building with no doorman and none of their new neighbors had asked questions…yet.

"What did you say to her?"

"Nothing! We exchanged pleasantries. Talked about Henry. I…we agreed…we're having coffee tomorrow."

He raised an eyebrow, "You and Swan? Coffee?" He was skeptical.

"To her I'm Henry's teacher--not his psychotic pseudomother."

"You keep calling yourself that and you'll start to believe it as much as I do."

She ignored him. "I'm hoping we can talk. Maybe--maybe I can get her to see--to understand."

"I gave her True Love's kiss and it didn't work. How are you, a woman she could barely stand before, supposed to convince her?"

"I have something you never had with her?"

"Sapphic tension?"

"No, you idiot. Henry. And I think…I think she can sense it too."

 

####

The chicken, smothered in curry and mustard, sat heavy in her stomach that night. Henry did his homework and sat up on the roof watching the city while Emma tried to do her quarterlies and not think about how much fun she'd had in all of five minutes at the grocery store.

It was stupid.

She finally dragged him down from the roof and got him in bed and then collapsed on her own, where she tried to quiet her brain and get rid of the grin and just sleep.

Only she kept thinking about Henry's teacher. Regina Mills of the dark hair and expensive coats and sharp sense of humor.

Their conversation, however brief it had been, had been the first one she had with someone where it felt…it felt right.

At least since Neal.

God.

She rolled over and hugged her pillow.

She was getting a crush on her son's teacher who smiled like Emma really freaking mattered. Like she understood her.

She closed her eyes and tried to force herself to sleep, but she kept seeing Regina. Only instead of those smiles that made her feel like she wasn't so alone there was that sad longing in Regina's eyes at the mention of a child. 

All Emma wanted to do, she realized, was fix it, give someone else the happy ending Emma herself had finally found.

She rolled back onto her back and shoved her pillow into her face.

God. It figured. The first time she connects with someone since she had Henry and it was his flipping teacher.

Hopefully she wasn't a mysterious asshole destined to leave her pregnant and in jail.

Or a murder. She really didn't need to having a big fat crush on a murderer.

It wasn't healthy.

"Moooom," Henry moaned from the other room, his voice muffled by his own pillow, "go to sleep."

That was the problem with fancy loft kind of apartments. Henry could hear her every twist and turn. She hopped up and crept into his room and lay on the bed next to him. He was trying to sleep on his stomach and peered at her with one eye.

"I can't sleep," she said conspiratorily.

"I have school."

"I know. With Regina."

His one open eye got wider, "Who?"

"Your new teacher. Ms. Mills?"

"Oh. Her?" He twisted around in the bed until he was on his side, faced away from her, and hugging his pillow. "I like her."

"Because she's a good teacher."

"She's like a mom," he yawned, "only older."

She snuggled up against Henry's back and listened to his soft breathing. He was too hot to stay pressed against long, but she liked the smell of his shampoo and the way he felt so solid in her arms.

She closed her eyes and let his breathing lull her to sleep.

It was a dreamless sleep. With no pretty teachers.

Or the dragons or ogres or bloodshot green eyes that watched her with such love.

And loss.

She woke up abruptly.

Loss.

That was what she'd seen in Regina's eyes. 

That same loss. Once consigned only to her dreams.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 2 here so soon? You betcha! Another friendly reminder that this puppy is gonna be long. So prepare yourselves.

Henry eyed her suspiciously over his cereal. They'd accidentally slept late and a huge full breakfast was exchanged for quick and easy Cheerios.

"Why are you dressed so nice?"

She glanced down at her clothes. Tailored slacks and a wool coat and "what's the matter with how I'm dressed?"

"That's your funeral coat," he pointed out.

"It's cold out," she said lamely.

He continued to stare.

"Hurry up and finish breakfast or you'll be late for school."

"I'm never late."

"I'll make you late. As--as punishment."

He raised an eyebrow.

"Just eat your breakfast."

 

####

"Is it a job thing," he asked.

"No."

"Did something happen to your leather jacket?"

"No. Your mom just wants to look nice for a day of paperwork. Is that so wrong?"

As Emma tended to wear jeans and her red leather jacket exclusively, yes, to Henry's mind, it was wrong, and he gave her the stinkeye that said as much.

She shoved him playfully as she pulled up to the school. "Go to class wierdo."

Regina Mills, of the even more expensive coat, walked by their car, flashing them both a huge smile that rendered them both quiet.

"Hurry up," she practically purred, "don't want to be late to class Henry." He nodded, still staring, and her eyes darted to Emma. She almost winked, but seemed to catch herself at the last moment. Her face quickly fell and then she pulled it into a polite smile and kept walking.

Henry stared after her. "She's wierd," he observed.

"Because she talked to you? What's wierd about that?"

"No," he said sourly. "It's just." One hand squeezed the door handle as he tried to figure out what he was gonna say. Then it froze and he turned around, taking in Emma's coat once more.

" **She's** why you're dressed nice?"

"What? No. Absolutely--"

"That's practically the same coat!"

"It's a nice coat!"

He glared in what she could only characterize as a paternal way. He'd been that way since he could talk. Her miniature dad.

She cracked. "We're doing coffee."

His eyes bugged, "You and my teacher?" 

"Me and a friend! We would have--she's nice Henry."

"She's my teacher."

"So we won't talk about you." She crossed her heart. "Promise."

He went back to staring and Emma sighed and leaned closer, hanging her arm over the seat behind him. "Here's the thing, I don't get a lot of chances to socialize with people my age that aren't--"

"Deadbeats?"

"Right. I mean my best friend is 13. Regina's an adult that I get along with and that isn't a deadbeat."

"That we know of."

"I need a friend my own age Henry. If coffee goes well then it might be your teacher."

"But what if it doesn't? What if she smells your feet or hears one of your prison stories or--"

"I promise Henry. No blowback."

"Fine," he sighed. "I guess."

"And who knows, maybe we do coffee and I find out she's an evil murderer with a massive bounty."

"Then we get steak!"

"See? Bright side!"

She pulled him into a hug before he could protest and dropped a kiss on his ruffled hair. 

Henry hopped out of the car and smoothed his hair back down. Then leaned back in. "If you want I can start investigating her. Operation--"

" **No** Operation, Henry. Not yet at least."

Henry reluctantly agreed and ran towards the school. Regina was standing at the door holding it open for students and she smiled at Henry and patted his shoulder as he walked by. She looked up when the last student was in and stared directly at Emma. No smile. Or thoughtfulness. Just something still and inscrutable.

"Here's to not needing a Operation Regina," Emma muttered, and shifted the Bug loudly into first.

 

####

He was still Henry.

That's what kept striking her. The last time she'd implanted memories in people and given them whole other lives they'd changed. Snow had become the timid Mary Margaret. The confident Charming because the indecisive David. While elements of their original personalities remained much of who they were shifted.

But Henry. He was still her son. More outgoing perhaps. More worldly seeming. But Henry. He was studious and careful and cleverer than every other child in the room.

And he seemed to notice her staring. He'd pause in the middle of his work and could always, without fail, find her eyes. His head would tilt as he'd watch her thoughtfully and then he'd return to his work--sometimes chancing a quick glance back at her.

The first time it happened she excused herself from the room and hid in the bathroom, hyperventilating and trying to school her unwieldy emotions.

She'd seen him already. Her first day of school they'd spoken and her heart had jackhammered in her chest. But now. Now after a week she was just a teacher of his. Not some curiosity. One of a multitude. And still his eyes searched her out and…

She'd let her head thump against the stall door and sighed. Of its own volition her hand had risen to her mouth to muffle a sob.

He was still her son.

All the magic in the world. All the joy she'd given him. And it couldn't alter that one truth.

She'd taken a ragged breath and gone back to the classroom. And his looks after that were met with tremulous smiles that hopefully fueled his curiosity without raising his hackles.

She knew her son well, and it was only a matter of time before he start penning a plan in his little notebook. Researching the new teacher that couldn't escape his thoughts.

Operation Rattlesnake or Python.

Or maybe, Operation Mills.

 

####

"What," she hissed.

"Am I using this right," Hook shouted.

Regina had to pull the phone away from her ear and a few heads swiveled to watch her. Including Henry, who slowly ate his tuna fish while scrutinizing her.

She backed into an empty corner of the cafeteria and turned away from the students, covering her other ear with her hand and ducking down. "Yes its fine. You've managed to figure out the phone. Why are you calling?"

Hook was chewing obnoxiously loudly and the crunch of cookies through her pilfered phone's tinny speaker had Regina wincing. 

"I'm looking at what you wrote last night."

He yawned and Regina glanced up at the clock. "It's 12 o'clock! Did you **just** wake up."

"I'm an artist darling. We need our rest."

"It'd be easier to get if you stopped raiding the liquor cabinet."

The house they were…squatting…in had a rather expansive collection of liquor and Hook had made it his goal to sample every single one. 

"I was into the Kentucky Bourbon last night. Those Kentuckanese certainly know how to make a fine drink."

She massaged the bridge of her nose in an attempt to quell her anger.

"It's," she said through gritted teeth, "Kentuckians. And get to the point pirate. Quickly."

"Right." He cleared his throat and she heard him rifle through papers while munching loudly on another cookie. "So this bit where you teach hapless children how to believe in themselves by sending them on a quest to face a blind witch. I feel…it's inaccurate."

"That's what I did."

"Didn't most of them die?"

She snorted, "Guess they didn't believe hard enough."

"I don't think this story is the way to endear Henry to you. It could be interpreted as…"

"Yes?" Henry hadn't stopped watching her.

"You sending a bunch of children to their deaths to get a poisonous apple for yourself. Also, I know for a **fact** you did not save Hansel and Gretel from an abusive home."

"He left them in the woods."

"Because you abducted him."

She rolled her eyes. "Whatever. Figure it out. Use your 'artistic sensibility' to make it work."

"Really?" Why did he sound so excited.

"Really." 

She glanced back to spot Henry but he was gone. She quickly forgot her phone and stepped on her tip toes, craning her neck and trying to find him again.

"Ms. Mills?"

Somehow Henry had crept up behind her--a feat he'd never accomplished in all the years she'd been his mother--and Regina jumped a good twenty feet in the air.

"Oh! Goodness you scared me."

"Sorry," he said--not the least bit sorry.

"Is everything alright Henry?" She stooped so they were eye to eye.

"You're going on a date with my mom."

She was--her mouth formed a perfect "O" of surprise.

"I…" she tried. "I'm new to the city and your mom offered to--"

"Go for coffee. It's a date Ms. Mills."

"I see." He was trying to sound much older than he was and only half succeeding. She wondered if he'd have ever been this protective of her. She straightened up. "And are you okay with our date?"

"I don't want it to affect our relationship," he said very seriously.

"I can assure you Mr. Mi--Swan, that I can be very professional," she responded--as seriously.

"Good," he nodded succintly. 

He held his hand out and Regina took it gingerly. It was the first real physical contact she'd had with her son in well over a year, and it nearly undid her.

His hand had grown, and it was stronger now--the grip firm. This close to him she could see the faint shadow of a mustache. The result of rapidly approaching puberty.

He ended contact first and turned to walk away, but Regina called after him. "Henry," she said, "it really isn't a date."

He paused to look back at her, his hazel eyes wiser than she'd ever seen them. "It's okay if it is though."

 

####

Emma bounced from foot to foot and tried not to look anxious as she watched the door to the school. She'd shown up ten minutes early and sat in her car editing reports. At two minutes til she'd gotten out and very. Slowly. Walked towards the school. All while trying to look casual.

The whole friend thing was new and she was giddy on the inside. Bouncing around and eager to talk and be talked to and make the other woman laugh.

She really needed a life.

Regina came out of the school three minutes late with her phone pressed to her air. She was hissing something that sounded unpleasant into the phone and when she saw Emma she froze and tried a polite smile before hanging up.

"Everything okay?"

She waved her phone, "My collaborator can be…difficult."

"That's the beauty of working alone."

"Agreed. I'm half tempted to learn how to draw."

"Is he at least…good?"

"When he's sober. Though he's madly in love and insists on hiding her face in **every** illustration. It's like a bizarre Where's Waldo."

Emma laughed. "He sounds fun--in that drunk and tortured artist sort of way."

Regina eyed her, "Yes, though I suspect your version of fun is very different from mine."

"Now, see, that you can't know until you hang out with me. Because I can be a **lot** of fun. Only with less drunken and tortured artist habits. Like right now? We're going to walk to a coffee shop up the street and it's going to be really fun." 

She turned so she was walking backwards in front of Regina who rolled her eyes and followed. 

"Getting coffee is fun?"

"With me, always. But especially in this neighborhood. We get to spy on all the rich kids skipping school to hang out in the coffee house and then call their parents on them."

Regina raised an eyebrow.

"If…you know…we wanted to. Or we could just do coffee."

"I think we should probably play it safe. Some of those kids might have gone to my school and I'd rather **not** get fired in my second week."

"Even aspiring writers got to eat?"

She smiled pleasantly. "Something like that."

 

####

"Hm."

Coffee wasn't in the cards. Emma had double checked on Yelp **and** the place's website to make sure it was open. It was not.

"Guess coffee doesn't do business like it use to," Regina mused.

"I double checked."

"Did you?"

"I did!" She tried the door and peered through the foggy glass. There was no sign of life. She whipped out her phone.

"What are you doing?"

"Leaving a strongly worded message on Yelp."

"The great Emma Swan leaves Yelp reviews?"

"She does--though I don't know many people who would call me great. You can keep doing it if you want."

Regina blushed. "It just seemed…appropriate."

"It's okay," she flashed a quick smile, "It's like I'm a princess. Oo! Or a queen."

Regina rolled her eyes.

Emma finished her quick missive and shoved her phone back into her pocket. Regina was leaning against the abandoned coffee shop's window and staring up at the sky. She seemed perfectly bored.

As adventures with new friends went Emma's was bombing.

"Do you like art," Emma asked.

Regina continued to look skyward. "On occasion, but I'm not walking all the way over to Museum Row."

"I wasn't planning on that either. Come on." She grabbed Regina's hand without asking and dragged her down the street and further from the school.

"You're awfully chipper," Regina noted dryly.

She paused, "Why wouldn't I be?"

"I--I don't know?" Regina frowned--genuinely confused.

"Um. Thanks I guess." They paused at a crosswalk and Emma dropped Regina's hand, shoving her's back into her coat pocket and watching the road before jaywalking. "You know I used to not be the bright and shining example of optimism you see before you?"

Regina hurried to follow and had to catch her purse as it slipped off her shoulder. "Oh?"

They crossed at another crosswalk and kept walking, Emma guiding Regina carefully around stalled pedestrians that Regina seemed not to see. She was focused accutely on Emma, and Emma, surprised to have someone so openly curious, was happy to keep her entertained.

"Before Henry. I grew up in the foster system. Whole nine yards with the different sets of parents every few months and eventual residency at a lovely state home. Guess the original parents weren't a fan of babies."

"Maybe."

"It made me a little…prickly."

Regina nodded, her eyes carrying that lost look again. She did that a lot, it seemed. Went somewhere far away in her head.

"But then," Emma smiled, "then I had Henry and it was like being in charge of this little guy just kind of demanded me being **happy** you know? I had to be optimistic because I had this kid looking up to me and he was never gonna be good if I wasn't there to set an example."

"So this, all this, is because of Henry?"

"Healthy paychecks help, but yeah. When you've got a kid as good as Henry it's hard **not** to be chipper. He makes life easier."

"I'm sure," Regina said softly. The lost look never quite disappearing. Instead she seemed to grow even more distant. More lost.

Emma wanted to smack herself. Right. Regina had had a child, and by all accounts lost them, and there was Emma talking glowingly about her own.

"Sorry," she said immediately.

"What," Regina's face fogged with confusion before, "Oh! No. It's all right. I work at a school Emma. If I got upset every time a parent talked about their children I'd go crazy."

"Yeah but I can help by not talking about my--"

Regina reached out to squeeze Emma's arm, surprising them both with the contact. "Really," she said softly. "I like hearing you talk about Henry."

Emma reached up to squeeze the hand on her arm and they shared the briefest moment of contentedness--before both women blushed.

"This suddenly got really personal."

Regina coughed. "It did. You were saying something," she tried to smile but it looked like a grimace, "about art?"

"Right," she dropped her hand down into Regina's and pulled her to an abrupt stop in front of a building.

Regina looked up, "Society of Illustrators?"

"It's art."

"Okay…"

"I know you look at this stuff a lot with your book, I guess I just thought it'd be fun," she rubbed at her neck, "Henry and I usually get a kick out of coming and checking it out. He's a member and everything." 

She glanced up at the name of the building, etched into granite. While she'd never been a person into whimsy she always allowed herself a little at the museum. There was something infectious about it. Particularly her son's recent obsession with the place. For the last year he'd insisted on coming as often as was reasonable.

That seemed enough to sway Regina. She looked up at the building and her expression softened. Taking a deep breath, she nodded. "It sounds wonderful."

 

####

It was fairytales. The exhibit was hundreds of pieces of art from fairytales. Most of Regina's life in watercolors and pencils. There was the witch that would be Maleficient and there the imp that would be Gold and there she was in all her gnarled glory offering an apple or in all her most magestic finery preening in a mirror. This world's interpretation of her life.

She never watched the movie, and she'd only rarely glanced at Henry's book, so she didn't often think of how others saw her.

To this world she was the ugly villain.

"You're my mom," Henry had said--and she had to chant those words over and over again in the face of her own awfulness.

Emma sidled up beside her, oblivious to her thoughts. "That's my favorite."

Regina nodded to the one that depicted her dancing in red hot iron shoes. "You like torture?"

"No. This one." She pointed at another. Regina--the Queen--looking into the mirror and Mary Margaret--Snow--looking back. Only the glass seperated the women, as Snow reached out trying to break through and Regina turned her head away to avoid looking upon her.

"Why?"

Emma shoved her hands into the pockets of her coal gray coat and considered it. "I don't know. I guess because they don't hate each other in this one."

"You think they care about each other?" That was a surprise, and Regina didn't bother to hide it.

"I think the story is about making women compete against one another. It's nice to see one where they're trying to communicate."

"It **is** rare." Except in the last year. Then Regina and Mary Margaret had found common ground. Mothers without children they'd bonded in ways they never had before.

Something awful--something only communicated as "respect" was forged between them.

"What about you? Got any favorites?"

She peered at all of them, looking for just one that didn't paint her as a monster or Snow as an innocent. Sighing she settled on the most innocuous one. "This one," she said.

The Queen and King with a young Snow. They all looked happy and whole--the only nod to the Queen's villainy being the lurid shade of red on her lips.

"Cute family. Little weird that dad is so obsessed with his kid's beauty though."

"Is that--" she looked at the card beneath the piece, and the caption **was** about how he loved his daughter for her beauty best of all.

One bit of truth in the tableau before her.

"It's astounding what we let children read isn't it? That this--this muck is considered a good story?"

"It teaches them about monsters out there. I figure that's something every kid needs to learn. This way they get it in a cute book.."

"But it's so black and white. The world isn't."

"Maybe." Emma continued to appraised the work. "What would you do? If this was your story up here?"

"What I **am** doing is showing it isn't just villains and heroes. The good can be evil and the evil good. It's as important as the monsters are."

"That's your book?"

Apparently it was. She nodded.

"Then I'll have to read it when you finish."

It was the perfect opportunity and Regina would have been a fool not to take it. "You could read it sooner," she offered. "I mean," she tried a little self-effacing smile, "I'd love fresh eyes on it."

It would solve one of the largest obstacles currently in Operation Get Regina's Family Back. She could just…she could show them the book and they would see their stories, and all the other stories, and it would click.

It had to click.

"I'd like that," Emma said, with none of the false niceties most people would extend in that situation. This new Emma was far too earnest for Regina's taste. "Now," she rocked back on her heels, "what are your thoughts on Peter Pan?"

"Vindictive little troll better off dead."

Emma blinked.

"I guess I'm not much of a fan?"

"Noted. But there's some illustrations in the other room. They really hone in on the dark aspect of the character--which it sounds like you would like. And Hook has the **biggest** wart on his nose."

Now **that** actually sounded enertaining. She could take pictures with her phone and laugh at Hook as she showed them to him. 

Emma snagged her hand again and guided her into the other room.

And Regina let her.

 

####

"We should do this again."

"Fail at coffee?"

"Hang out. You had fun right?"

Regina nodded, "I did…you really want to 'hang out' with me?"

"Well not when you say it like a grandma. But yeah. Maybe we could do dinner. Oo. Or a movie. Henry's at a sleepover on Friday and I've got time."

Regina tilted her head, "Henry has sleepovers?"

"Sure." He was one of the most popular kids in his grade despite gangly limbs and a borderline obsession with fairytales and comic books.

She smiled softly. "So he's well liked then?"

"Well, you see him more than I do now. So--"

"Of course. I do. I do. I just. I never realized he got along with so many of the children."

"How long have you been teaching there anyways?"

"A week. The last teacher won a great deal of money and left the city."

"And they just hired you?"

She flashed her teeth in a wolfish grin, "I can be persuasive."

"How persuasive?"

Oops. Emma had sidled up to her when she said that. Falling into a flirtatious rhythm that she wasn't sure Regina was picking up on. 

Regina blushed and her smile faltered. "Very," she croaked.

"Did this just get personal again?" Clearly it had, and Emma was trying to jokenly defuse the situation.

But Regina didn't back down like she could have. "It got something."

"Something bad," Emma asked

She studied her then stepped close, "I honestly don't know."

They were both in heels, but Regina was just a scant inch taller so Emma had to look up. It felt odd. Like Regina should always be the same height. Or shorter even.

"So, dinner and a movie," Emma asked softly.

"I'd like that."

Emma, feeling awfully bold, took another step forward. Regina gasped and didn't take her eyes off Emma. She reached into her pocket and pulled out her phone.

"Got a number?"

"That sounds dangerously like a pick up line Emma."

"And if it was?"

"Thought we were just going to be friends?"

"Friends exchange phone numbers too."

Regina kept watching Emma, but blindly reached for the phone and punched in her number. "Call me then," she said softly. She tucked Emma's phone back into her pocket and backed away before bowing her head and smiling and disappearing back into the building.

Yeah. Emma was definitely going to call her.

 

####

She made her way directly to the bathroom where she slumped in front of the mirror and stared at her face--searching for any sign of magic.

Because it had to be magic.

Emma wouldn't just be--be hitting on her otherwise.

It didn't make sense with the life she'd been given. She was a happy mother who'd never lost her son. Not a…a lonely woman desperate for contact--even if it was with a new teacher who acted half crazy half the time.

Maybe some spell lingered on her or someone had gotten to her or-- It was a potion. Something that affected them both and explained why Regina actually flirted back there at the end.

It had to be something external. It could never, ever be something--"Ms. Mills? Are you in there?"

She took another look at herself in the mirror, and tried to use the relatively calm face staring back as an anchor. Grounding herself. It wasn't a big deal. This new, happier, Emma Swan was just a facade. Regina would break the spell and Emma would forget this and there'd be a few awkward moments before they'd descend back into normalcy.

All she just had to do was break the spell.

 


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> IT HAS BEEN AGES. I did not forget. I moved across country and started a new job and also maybe had issues with this chapter. Bonus is I’m already more than a thousand words into chapter 2. And Vexed folks can expect an update later this week or early next week maybe. GET EXCITED. I know I am!

**Chapter Three**

"Why is Emma Swan's face sketched into that horse's whorls?"

"You're seeing things."

"And the sun. And the trees and the—"

"You keep saying **I'm** the one obsessed with Swan but **you're** the one seeing her face in a horse's ass Regina."

"Because you drew it there! And there. And there. And," she snapped the book of drawings closed, her mind shutting down from the sheer horror of what she'd just witnessed. "Did I just come across a portrait of me and Gold," she gripped the book so tight her nails left impressions in its cover, "with Emma's face instead of our own?"

"No."

She ripped the book open and held the offending page out to Hook while averting her eyes. "There. That is very clearly me and that is very clearly Gold and that is very clearly **Emma Swan's face**."

Hook peered. And peered. And peered so long she thought he might have been blind before blushing. 

"Hm."

She closed the book again and rapped him on the head with it. "Stop drawing her face! She's supposed to see familiar stories and familiar faces. Not your Kaufmanesque horror show."

"My what?"

"Stop. Drawing. Emma."

He snatched the book away and then wagged it in her face, "Stop. Blaming. Me. **You're** the one that's supposed to be getting this book to her and convincing her we're all real and all you've done is avoid her calls and play with Henry at school."

"I'm waiting for **you** to finish." And she wasn’t **playing** with Henry. She rarely even got the chance to talk to him.

"No love, you're stalling, as you have been since you first suggested we convince them with a book and I stupidly agreed."

"Short of kidnapping them this is our only option."

She shouldn't have put kidnapping on the table because Hook's face lit up at the suggestion. 

"We're not kidnapping them," she said immediately. “Besides we can’t get back to the enchanted forest until they believe. Or did you forget that with the entire contents of the liquor cabinet in your stomach?"

"Maybe. It could also be the sheer tediousness of sitting in this awful apartment day in and day out."

She'd forbidden him from leaving as long as he was unshaven and wearing his silly leather coat. And Hook had been vain enough to suffer rather than lose either.

“You could—"

"I'm not shaving,” he snapped.

"How about just the coat then? That thing smells like the backside of an ogre.”

“How would you know? Spend many days up an ogre’s ass—you’re distracting me from my point! Stop avoiding Emma,” he hissed.

“I—“ Words failed her. Much like rational plans failed her when she was in this new Emma’s presence.

“I—“ he mimicked her, “don’t care. We need Swan. **That’s** your job.”

“Fine.” She popped her finger and missed magic. His impudence would have been much more easily handled if she could just turn him into a toad for a few hours. She leaned in. “I’ll befriend Emma.” She smiled. “And when I do I’ll text you ‘selfies.’ Of us. Hugging. Ecstatically.” The words rolled of her tongue and lingered heavy in the air.

Were Hook a better man he would have blushed. But he just glowered. “I don’t know what a selfie is, but if it involves you behaving inappropriately with an amnesiatic Swan I know I don’t like it.”

 

####

Regina Mills stood her up.

They made plans for a movie and Emma set Henry up with enough pizza and video games to keep him entertained for a month, let alone a couple of hours while she was out, and Regina didn't show.

Being stood up stung, what with it essentially being out and out rejection.

The calls that went to voicemail after two rings were worse though. Because voicemail after two rings didn't mean a dead phone. No. No, it meant she was being **ignored**.

Regina was **hiding** from her.

So a week later she worked up the nerve and she dropped Henry off twenty minutes early and got out of her car and waited, leaning against the hood to keep her backside warm and trying not to scowl at people as a brisk wind chilled her front side.

She didn't know exactly what she was going to say to Regina. She hadn't figured out anything beyond expressing disappointment and asking that it not affect things with Henry.

Which was maybe worse than the whole being stood up and then **ignored**.

Emma’d been the idiot trying to make friends with Henry's new teacher. She’d come on too strong, and now, if the woman turned out to be crazy, or worse, a massive jerk, then it was **her** son that would have to pay the price.

So she was going to salvage that part at least.

Regina rounded the corner with her head held high, as though she hadn't chickened out and she hadn’t been avoiding Emma. 

Until she saw her. 

Then she stopped and seemed to swallow nervously.

Emma tried to make the ensuing awkwardness easier by meeting Regina at the school's steps. That way even if they were both mortified and never spoke again it would all have happened quickly. Maybe even too fast to remember properly.

But when they were close enough to talk without shouting there was silence. Emma not sure how to express herself and Regina rigid with terror.

"I get it," Emma said. Finally breaking the silence and forging ahead. "You don't want to see me outside of a parent-teacher conference and that's fine—I’m kind of offended and confused but I’m not gonna push it. I just—"

"That's not it."

Wait. What? "Really?"

"I do," Regina insisted. "I do want to see you.” Then why it seem like pulling teeth just for Regina to spit that declaration out? “I just—"

"You're scared."

"Yes—no!" She was appalled. "No, I'm **not** scared."

Emma glanced around, "I mean. Did you think that we were going to do exactly what I said we wouldn’t—Wait.” She stepped back. “Have you ever? With," she motioned down at herself.

Regina rolled her eyes, “Not that its any of your business **Miss** Swan, but I have and that's not the issue."

"It's a perfectly legitimate one Regina. A lot of people would be nervous even though I’ve said a dozen times we’re just—"

"I don't date," she announced, sighing dramatically and acting like Emma had just **dragged** something out of here. "I—You asked me on a date. Very clearly. After coffee and a walk through a supermarket you asked me on a date. And I don't…do…that."

"Ever?"

"I lived in a town about as large as a Macy’s. There weren't opportunities. And besides. **Now** I'm Henry's…teacher."

"Henry knows already. I tell the kid everything."

"And your openness is commendable, if terrifying, but we both have to admit this could—would—make things difficult for him."

As interesting as Regina was—as important as it felt to get to know her— **Henry** was more important. So Emma took a step back and shoved her hands in her pockets.

"What about friends?"

"With me?" Why did Regina always sound so incredulous—so surprised that Emma would find her interesting?

"We could be friends. That was my whole point before my mouth opened. Let's just take dating out of the equation.”

Regina hesitated.

Emma pressed her infinitesimal advantage, “I mean, Henry says I'm great at being a friend."

"He's thirteen."

"They're very picky at that age," she deadpanned.

Regina ducked her head and pushed her hair behind her ear. And then she smiled. That soft one that did nothing to assuage Emma's crush. 

Emma stooped forward and tried to catch her eye. "Can we try just friends? No dates. Dutch on coffee. All flirtation off the table."

"No flirting?"

"I won't even wink."

Regina popped the knuckle of her index finger. Had to be a nervous habit. She nodded then. "I can be friends."

"Friends don't stand each other up."

She raised her head. The eye contact was electric—promising that whatever they could try and be to one another it was going to, at the very least, be memorable. "I won't."

"Friends do lunch too."

"Tomorrow?"

"How about Saturday. You've got kids to teach remember?"

Regina **blushed**. Her cheeks red as she raised her chin haughtily— "Saturday."

 

####

In her dreams she had a mom and she knew what she looked like. It was as though her face had been smooshed together with Henry’s. His hair. His eyes. Her cheekbones. But everything blurred enough that she didn’t get details as much as she got hints of details. In a dream hints were all she needed and even though she couldn’t remember her mother’s face when she woke up she **knew** it. Her mom was her age somehow—like leaving her off a highway in the middle of a forest had arrested the whole aging process. She’d race across and empty street and she’d hug her and her voice would contain every ounce of regret and longing—all the emotions Emma had felt too acutely when she’d tried to give Henry up.

Then she’d wake up to being an orphan again and the chill of the room—the silence of it—would be oppressive.

She didn’t tell Henry about the dreams of a mother she’d never known. While they shared everything but underwear he didn’t need to know his mom had a bad case of the Orphan Annies.

But she could tell Regina. 

She told Regina.

It spilled right out of her over corned beef sandwiches thicker than her fist. Regina had a talent for listening. She sat there with a perfectly inscrutable expression on her face. No judgement or poorly placed amusement—just concern.

“Why do you think you’ve been dreaming of her,” she asked, her head tilted just so. Her dark eyes could look straight through Emma. They were terrifyingly focused and yet cooly distant. The kind of eyes that should have been scary but left Emma only…curious.

And Emma had no idea why she’d been dreaming of her. She’d gone **months** without thinking of that woman—the one who’d given her up—abandoned her in the woods. 

It was the crazy pirate, maybe. Showing up at her door and begging for her help to save some unseen “family.” Henry was her family, but the man’s crazy ranting must have unearthed long dormant emotions she very much **wanted** to stay dormant.

“This guy showed up at my apartment the other day,” she said, “Ranting about family. Maybe it got me thinking?”

Regina sipped her water through a straw and raised an eyebrow. “Crazy men often show up ranting about family?”

“It was a first,” she said dryly.

“Did you know him?”

“Nope. And I haven’t seen him since, thus the crazy theory is holding pretty strong. But he talked like I had family—you know family besides Henry. I haven’t had that—haven’t thought about having that—in a while.”

Regina poked the ice at the bottom of her cup with her straw. “I know the feeling. Being content—and then someone muscles their way into your life and—“ She froze. Frowned. Like memories, good and bad, were overwhelming her.

“It throws your for a loop,” Emma said softly.

Regina focused on her again. Eventually a smile tugged at the corner of her lips. “A very big one.”

Something un “just friends” passed between them and Emma sat back, tossing her napkin onto her finished sandwich and reaching for her water.

“This was a good lunch,” she declared. Maybe if she said it loud enough all the “connecting” going on between her and Regina would disappear—or at least be forgotten.

“It was filling,” Regina agreed.

“Company wasn’t bad either.”

Regina looked up sharply, “I thought you said no flirting.”

“I was being **polite**. You’re the one that keeps interpreting everything as a come on.”

The blush started on Regina’s cheeks. Two high points like apples. Emma couldn’t resist leaning forward and lowering her voice, the corner of her mouth curling up wolfishly, “I’m beginning to think you have a crush.”

The panic that distorted Regina’s features was palpable enough that Emma was forced to sit back and give her space.

“I don’t,” Regina insisted.

Emma peered down at her cuticles.

“Ask me about my book.”

Emma looked back up. The color was fading from Regina’s cheeks and her eyes were bright and focused again. One side of her mouth quirked up into a smile Emma found very…

Nope. Just friends.

“The one I’m writing,” Regina elaborated.

“The children’s book,” she said, pointlessly clarifying a fact they both knew just to give Regina a little more time to compose herself. “There’s progress?”

Regina continued smiling—the move away from flirtation easing her back into the woman Emma really enjoyed spending time with. “There is progress. H—Killian sobered up enough to start on the artwork.”

Emma acted impressed, “He did? How healthy for him.”

“And good for me. Would you like to see a photo? It’s just rough but—“ 

“A drunk guy’s attempt at drawing a children’s book? Who could resist?”

Regina pushed her phone across the table and Emma leaned over to look at the photo she’d taken.

The drawing was done in charcoals, which meant heavy shadows and swaths of empty space. It was a good drawing. If creepy.

Dark for a children’s book. Long gnarled branches of trees reached in from the edges of the page, pulling the darkness with them and threatening to suffocate the sign that show in bright white relief.

“Storybrooke.”

The name tickled the edges of her mind. Images of some other time flitted across her consciousness. Memories.

She blinked and the haze of the past dissipated, leaving her again in the present. “Isn’t that already the name of a kid’s book?”

“No,” Regina said. And her voice seemed distant.

“It just seems…familiar.”

“Does it?”

Regina made no move to retrieve her phone. She cocked her head to the side and when Emma looked up she found eyes as dark as the shadows on the page.

Emma smiled, “Guess that means you’re onto something.”

Regina smiled and for half a second it was unnerving—as if it couldn’t reach her eyes. “Guess it must.”

 

####

Regina gave her son and his birth mother a new life and new memories. She made them happy. She’d given them joy that she—that no one—could have given them without magic.

But she hadn’t given them money. Or at least enough. **That** was painfully evident by that ugly little yellow bug Emma drove around. And asides about money when it was the two of them doing “coffee.”

And Henry being the last kid to be picked up.

Again. 

He never seemed to mind it. She’d watch him talk with friends who were, one by one, picked up by parents and nannies. Then he’d pull a book out of his bag and flop onto the stairs leading down to the sidewalk and he’d read.

Every day.

Most days Emma was only a little late. The teachers would all still be busy packing up their own belongings when she’d squeal to a halt in front of the school and Henry would dash to the car with a content smile on his face.

Regina would watch them drive off fighting a melange of anger and melancholy and jealousy. 

But that Friday she watched teacher after teacher leave. Watched school aids and office staff and others go. It was just her and the janitors and the waning light to keep Henry company.

The heels of her shoes were noisy on the pavement—loud even to her. She took a seat beside him, flipping the edges of her coat up over her legs and leaning forward to hold her legs.

Henry didn’t look up from his book and Regina fought the urge to engage him.

For all the changes her new curse had brought Henry was still Henry. Quiet and thoughtful. He had to come to her. She could never chase him. So she watched yellow and green and black cabs sale down the street and old men shuffle down the sidewalk being led by tiny dogs and she waited with him.

“She’s not normally this late,” Henry finally offered.

His voice was always deeper tha she remembered. She heard it every day. Spoke to him as often as propriety would allow, and still there were hints of a stranger in that rapidly developing tenor.

She closed her eyes so he wouldn’t see her stricken merely by his words.

“She’s not,” she asked, eyes still closed.

She heard him close his book and tuck it into his bag. “Stuff comes up sometimes.”

There was the barest of hesitancy in his words. Just enough that Regina chanced a look to confirm. He was worried. His eyes focused on the intersection her car would come from every day.

“It’s not like she forgets me,” he said.

“No.” How could she? Henry was Emma’s world. And she was, conversely, his. She leaned forward to intercept his focused gaze and looked into eyes she could never—would never—forget. Clever hazel eyes that used to look at her with adoration and then recrimination. Now they looked through her. Until she said, “Have you called her.”

Suddenly they were focused.

She started to pull her phone out of her purse. 

“I have a phone,” Henry protested.

“And you don’t want to use it?”

He returned his attention to the end of the street. “She’s probably at the police station.” At Regina’s raised eyebrow Henry continued, “She still does bonds sometimes. Then she gets stuck at the police station waiting on paperwork.”

“So…she’ll be here?”

He nodded. “She will.”

Regina sighed. Her son. Always impressed—always trusting—of the woman who’d thrown him away. “Then,” she said, sucking in another deep breath, “why don’t I wait with you?”

“I’m fine.”

He wasn’t. He was more nervous than he’d ever say out loud.

“I know,” she insisted. “But I’m not.”

He rolled his eyes—knowing exactly what she was doing.

“Do you mind,” she asked.

“It’s fine,” he sighed. “I guess.”

He returned to his book, holding it too close to his face and  lingering on each word.

And Regina allowed herself to be content. Just for the moment. To pretend that she wasn’t in New York City with a son who was a stranger.

It wasn’t as hard as she thought. Not when ten minutes later he leaned closer to her and moved the book between them to allow her to follow along.

He still smelled the same—a year in a whole new world hadn’t robbed him of the scent she’d been inhaling since he was a swaddled infant. And he was still too warm for comfort. He burned hot. Her little furnace she used to say when he’d crawl into bed after a nightmare.

“You can read too,” he said. It was a childish gesture for a boy who acted so wise.

Regina said nothing.

She hunched down to read along and she only just held back the audible gasp when she realized what he was reading. 

She should have known. It was a fairy tale.

One too acutely familiar for Regina’s own taste.

One lived. One still being lived and threatening everything. One forcing her on this journey through time and space back to a son she’d thought lost forever.

The Snow Queen.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay. But seriously. I’m working hard on making the space between chapters shorter. I mean, damn, I wanted this done before 3.5 even started! Good job me. If you’re liking it, hating it, or missing Vexed let me know. Feedback is fuel for writers. Especially the really cool feedback full of analysis or detailed criticism.  
> Just saying.

####

Emma never came and by five o’clock it was getting dark and even the janitorial staff seemed to be winding down. Leaving Regina and Henry all alone on the school steps.

“Is this normal,” she asked.

Henry shook his head.

They each tried Emma, but both calls went directly to voice mail. Henry glared at his phone and Regina resisted the urge to fling her own phone away.

“Maybe her phone died,” Regina suggested.

Henry hit SEND again and didn’t look away from the DIALING on his phone. “Mom says only idiots and jackasses let their phones die.”

“Colorful.”

“She even had a battery pack in her purse.”

“She could have lost it.”

“She didn’t lose it.”

“Henry…” She reached for him. Her fingers grazing his sleeve before he pulled away from her. He then scooted further away for good measure.

It would have stung, but she’d grown accustomed to the way he ran from her touch long before.

No. No, that wasn’t true. It still stung. Her fingers meeting air and hanging lamely there was miserable and embarrassing and worse still, **stifling**.

She was a mother incapable of comforting her son. She’d soothed him for twelve years and now she couldn’t even touch him.

“My mom doesn’t **lose** her phone okay? She’s not irresponsible.”

She tried another smile. “No one said—“

“She’s an orphan who had me when she was eighteen.” He shot Regina such a condescending look that she would have been proud if she hadn’t been on the receiving end of it. “People **always** say she’s irresponsible.”

She slid across the step. “But I didn’t. I think your mother is…” She swallowed, barely believing she was saying it, “I think your mother is remarkable.”

Not because she’d raised a child when she was eighteen and in prison. Those were all fake memories. But because for the last year she’d made a life for herself and Henry. She’d made them both happy and kept their son healthy and whole despite a mind fogged by magic and a career carved from nothing.

“You barely know her,” he countered.

“I know enough. She raised an extraordinary son in extraordinary circumstances. That makes her remarkable don’t you think?”

He looked down at his book instead of answering, his finger plucking at the binding.

“And I don’t think she’d forgotten you or her phone.”

“Do you think she’s okay,” he asked. Surprisingly open in front of a woman he barely knew.

“I do,” she said sincerely. “But I also think it’s late and you have school tomorrow.” She stood up and brushed off her pants before offering Henry her hand. “Now come on. We’re going to leave a note on the door over there and I’m going to take you home.”

 

####

Emma was ungodly late to pick Henry up. Like the kind of late that would get him taken away. **Negligent** late. Even though, technically, she hadn’t been negligent.

Just unconscious.

In a crack house.

Which, if she had to talk with CPS would **sound** negligent. Especially if they her, her hair matted and the rest of her covered in a lot of stuff that went in toilets and not on clothes. 

She raced through two boroughs and one tunnel to get to Henry. People at every stop light gave her the hairy eyeball. Either because she looked the way she did, or because all the windows in the Bug were rolled down. It had been an unusually warm day for January but not **that** warm.

She was eight blocks from Henry’s school when her phone, finally had enough juice from the car charger to turn back on.

She was two blocks from the school (she’d only run one light) when she caught the text on it telling her that Regina had taken Henry home and he was safe.

She sat at the stop sign a block from the school and tried to catch her breath. Tried to tamp down the panic that had welled out of her since she’d woken up already an hour after she was supposed to pick Henry up.

Carefully she swung the car around and headed home, her entire body jittery with adrenalin.

She was a good mom, something she kept telling herself on the drive. She had to park four blocks from their building and trudge up the street with even more people gawking at her. It was worse on the elevator, where the only other occupant covered his nose and got out two floors early.

She was a **good** mom. 

When she finally plodded into her apartment she was ready for a nap and a fight at once. The fight she knew was coming. It always came when she failed Henry. Whatever adult picked up the slack would judge and recriminate and sometimes even suggest a call to CPS.

But Regina didn’t launch in on how awful Emma was. She instead sat, stunned, at the dinner table, a bit of chicken king casserole on her fork a good two inches from her open mouth.

Henry sat beside her, with a near identical look of surprise.

No anger. Actually. Emma couldn’t be sure but she thought she saw things like **worry** and **relief** cross Regina’s face.

It was so counter to the lecture she though she’d meet that she stood up straight, trying to maintain her dignity and said casually, “hey, save me any?”

 

####

They did save Emma some—a bit of which she tossed in her mouth on the way to the shower. After assuring them both she was fine she spent forty minutes scrubbing filth off of herself and working soap into her scalp until her wet hair squeaked. 

Henry was in bed when she got out, but Regina was still sitting at the table, a large reheated portion of the casserole and a glass of wine set at an empty place opposite her.

“I took the liberty of opening that wine languishing in your cupboard,” she said, raising her own glass.

“Thank God,” Emma moaned. She flopped into the chair and took a huge gulp of her drink. “After the day I had I’m going to need a couple of bottles of this.”

Regina raised her eyebrow in that very specific Regina way that did nothing to help Emma’s crush. “Rough was it?” 

“Got knocked unconscious and pushed down some stairs in a crack house. Not my finest hour.“

Most people would have been alarmed by that story. Regina, being as unflappable as a prison intake officer, didn’t blink—merely expressed concern. “Are you all right?”

“Nothing sleep won’t cure.”

She winced, “I don’t think you’re supposed to sleep after being knocked unconscious.” Sipping her win her mouth turned up into a halp smile. “Not unless you have magic,” she teased.

“Henry didn’t tell you? I’m totally a wizard.”

“Witch.”

“Whatever.”

That got her one a full, if bemused, smile. “So you’re okay,” she asked again, more seriously.

Emma set her fork down. “I am.”

Regina peered at her, searching her face with bright eyes, “You’re not just pretending to be okay to put up a front?”

“Why—“

“Henry told me.” She stared straight at Emma. Pierced her with a sympathetic but even gaze. “About the conclusions people jump to.”

“Oh.”

She reached across the table, catching Emma’s hand and giving it a squeeze. “I wouldn’t jump to that conclusion.”

“Really?”

“You’re a single mom in a dangerous if lucrative line of work. You’re not irresponsible.”

“Thanks—“

“Maybe a little greedy.”

“I’ve got a genius kid. Getting the best for him isn’t cheap.”

“You were doing this for Henry,” she asked softly.

“Everything I do is for Henry, Regina. He’s all I have.”

 

####

She’d rarely had the opportunity to see Emma Swan so…unguarded. All their time in Storybrooke and Neverland and their shared moments had been fraught with tension and distrust.

But **this** Emma trusted her.

This Emma was fundamentally different. She hadn’t been alone for ten years. She’d clung to Henry as a life line. Just as Regina had once upon a time. It changed her.

Profoundly.

Sighing, Regina stood up. “Come on.”

“Why?”

“Because the light is better over the sink and I’d like to check for a concussion.”

Emma stood but eyed Regina warily. “You have a lot of experience with concussions?”

Regina had the misfortune of being on the receiving end of more than one in the past few years. “I’m a teacher,” she sniffed.

“That inspires no confidence.”

She ignored her and dragged her under the light shining from above the sink. She had to step close—closer then she usually found herself—to inspect Emma. Their knees touched and it elicited a gasp that they both tried to ignore.

Regina more than Emma.

Silence descended.

There was just the tink tink tink of water dripping from the faucet and their breathing. Shockingly loud despite the big open space.

Shockingly intimate.

She noted the way Emma’s hand curled against the edge of the counter, her knuckles white. How her lips were dry. How that lonely light highlighted thick tendrils of blond. And how…

How **loud** their breathing was.

A cacophony matched only by the quick beat of her heart.

Somehow they’d drifted into something dangerous in the stifling silence. 

“What’s the verdict,” Emma asked. Her voice just a whisper uttered from lips too close.

“Definitely a concussion,” Regina whispered. Though she had no idea.

She swallowed. Emma’s gaze flickered to her lips and Regina told herself to step back.

Step away.

Run.

She didn’t move.

“I’m not supposed to sleep if I have a concussion.” She leaned forward, dropped her voice. “Any idea what I should do to stay awake?”

It was so bad—so bald—it bordered on good. But it created a crack in the tension. “You’re flirting again.”

Emma gently pushed them both back against the island, but looked up like she was being thoughtful. “Guess I could start on my taxes. Or read a book.”

Regina gulped. “Good idea.”

“Thanks,” Emma wasn’t looking Regina in the eyes. Instead she was staring at Regina’s mouth again. “For taking care of Henry.”

“It’s my job,” she said reflexively.

Emma leaned in. Down. Had she always been taller than Regina? “I still owe you.”

She was taller because Regina was slinking down. She slipped underneath Emma’s arms and backed away. “Dinner,” she said. “You can owe me dinner.”

“It’s a non-date then. Right?”

“Y—yes,” she stuttered. “ **Non** date.”

 

####

The non-date appeared suspiciously date like. Emma had brought her to a cozy restaurant with a cobblestone floor and flickering candles at every table and some old standards crooning coming from a dusty speaker in the corner.

And it was **French**.

Emma pretended it was normal. Not a date. Halfway through hor d’oeuvres, a well executed duck carpaccio, she even told Regina that they were going dutch. To keep up the masquerade. 

But split bills and a lack of touching couldn’t hide the fact that Emma Swan took her out. On a date.

One with warm tasting wine that seemed to blossom inside of her and careful smiles lacking all the guile Regina was accustomed to. And pleasant company. Company that made Regina stupidly giddy and happy and spoke to all the wrong parts of her.

It was an **easy** dinner.

She laughed at the realization.

Emma’s knife stopped cutting through her hanger steak and she looked up with gentle amusement and a touch of confusion. “What?”

“This is nice,” Regina said before she could stop herself.

Emma chuckled self-consciously, “That was the plan.”

Regina waved her off, because explaining it would have been too big a trial. “How’s work,” she asked instead. It was what they talked about. Henry and work and Regina’s book. If they’d been any more mundane one of them would have started DVRing Dance With the Stars.

“I get paid,” Emma said. She stabbed at her steak a little too aggressively. Since the unconscious in a crackhouse adventure Emma had been obscenely safe. She hadn’t said until now, but it also seemed to have drained some of the fun out of her work.

“You don’t like it?” 

“I’m good at it,” Emma said, “Same with being a bail bondswoman. I was good at that too. Finding people is kind of my thing.”

“When you’re not getting beaten up in crackhouses.”

“Right. Barring that I’m great at the job. It’s just…”

Regina leaned in, genuinely curious. Emma’s apparent ennui was no result of the curse—at least as far as Regina knew. “What,” she implored.

“This thing the other day for example. If you hadn’t been at the school I could have gotten in a **lot** of trouble for leaving Henry alone like that.”

“But you get paid well don’t you? And you must love the excitement.”

“Sure. And the hours arebetter than a lot of other jobs too. But it isn’t consistent. Hell it isn’t even salaried.”

“You would have preferred a salary?” 

“Would have?” Emma grinned, “You make it sound like you’d have granted my wish if you could.”

“You deserve to be happy.” She said it out of reflex. She’d spent so long convincing herself it was true that there wasn’t even a struggle to say it out loud.

Until she actually said **it**. And realized she’d said it. And realized Emma had interpreted it **very** differently. She reached for her wine.

Emma smiled. “I do, don’t I?” She was flirting again. 

But Regina was serious. She **could** be serious. “Yes, you do.”

So serious it could give Emma pause. She looked back down at her dinner. “Thanks,” she said without looking up.

Regina stared into her wine. “Sorry,” she apologized before taking a sip.

“It’s no big deal. You just like to be serious sometimes. It’s nice.”

“Is it?”

“Kind of reminds me of Henry.”

 

####

It was risky, but it was only just past eight and Emma didn’t want—couldn’t have—the night be over.

So she suggested they **walk** back from Brooklyn.

“That will take almost an hour!”

“It’s fifty degrees in January, the stars are out and neither of us are wearing insane shoes. This may never happen again,” Emma shot back.

She’d headed up Smith without looking, assuming—hoping— Regina would follow. Then there was the click clack of heels on pavement and the warmth of Regina at her side.

“They invented taxis for a reason.” It was just shy of a petulant mumble. 

“You could say the same thing about the pedestrian part of the Brooklyn Bridge.”

“If we get mugged—“

Emma scoffed.

“Someone could push us off.”

“No one is going to push us off the Brooklyn Bridge.”

“Or worse,” Regina said. She quickened her pace and then spun around to walk backwards. Her hands were jammed down into the pockets of her overcoat and her collar up to battle the light breeze coming down the street. “We could get blisters.” She said it like blisters were worse than mugging or death.

Emma laughed. “If it comes to that I’ll carry you your majesty.”

Regina’s heel caught on a crack in the pavement and she slipped, Emma’s quick reflexes the only thing keeping her her ass from meeting the pavement. She reached out and caught Regina’s elbow, pulling her far too close for just friends.

From playful to serious. That was the two of them. One second a joke and the next a shared look so intense it made her heart race. Not just with expectation. Terror trilled through her. Terror at that near grimace and the way she fit perfectly against Emma’s hands and the way it all felt unnervingly right.

Like fate.

Which wasn’t real. 

“You…” Regina was breathing quick—her eyes searching Emma. “You called me your majesty.” Settling on Emma’s mouth.

Her lips.

Her head was tilted in surprise. And wonder. 

Emma could only nod, because if she did anything more, if she moved her lips, or opened her mouth, than the “just friends” thing was going to end. The playful would disappear and the seriousness would settle on the both of them like a stone. 

Everything would change. Which was stupid. She hadn’t known Regina long. It wasn’t like having her or losing her should alter the very fabric of Emma’s **life** , but it would. She just knew if she leaned in closer or let her eyes settle on Regina’s mouth that—

She kissed her.

Regina kissed Emma.

There where Smith met Atlantic. Not romantic. Not special. Not quiet or soft or wondrous. The stars were masked by street lamps. Cars were roaring by. People were invading their tiny private bubble.

And Regina was kissing her.

It was a terrible place for a first kiss.

But kind of perfect.

“You just…”

Regina nodded and swallowed. “I shouldn’t have,” she said, nerves rattling in her voice. “I should have—“

Emma cupped Regina’s cheek in her hand to pull her closer and took another kiss without asking. Her other hand on Regina’s hip, rooting them both to that spot. She let herself savor the sensation of Regina’s mouth. Quick and nervous and tasting like wine.

Regina had told Emma she tended to be impulsive. Had said she’d been that way since she was a little girl. It was probably why she’d kissed Emma, and why she’d apologize. And would apologize again when they parted. 

So Emma kept kissing her.

 

####

It had spilled out of her over coffee and crack pie—a buttery confection Regina had purchased a slice of even though the calories were insane and she didn’t have the benefit of magic to burn them off.

“I suppose I’ve always been a little impulsive,” she’d mused and Emma had laughed and Regina had told her everything. How Daniel and Cora and Gold and even that mad hatter had told her she was too impulsive for her own good.

“It gets me into trouble.”

“A little impulsiveness never hurt anyone. I wouldn’t have Henry if I played things safe.”

“Fair point,” Regina had said.

And they’d talked about Henry and Emma had glowed telling Regina stories about their son and dumbly, naively, Regina had thought the fondness she’d felt in the moment had been for Emma’s affection for Henry.

She hadn’t thought it was more. Hadn’t thought the affection was for Emma herself.

She hated Emma.

Or disliked her.

At the very least she didn’t **love** her.

Love was reserved for the son that couldn’t remember her and the mother and dead lover entombed.

Kissing. Pleasure. Happiness. They didn’t have to be based in love or lead to it. Scratching an itch and kissing Emma Swan wasn’t the end of the world.

It was just nice.

“Sorry,” she said again when they parted. She stepped back and ran her hand through her hair. “That was—“

“Okay by me.” Emma was smiling dreamily.

Regina couldn’t stop looking at her. She had to physically shake her head to stop. “We’re supposed to just be friends.”

Emma nodded, “True. But you also weren’t supposed to kiss me.”

“You—“ She couldn’t even manage to lie and her chin dropped to her chest in resignation. “I suppose I did.”

“You kissed me, and now we’re gonna walk across the Brooklyn Bridge.” Emma had caught Regina’s hand somehow and was holding it in her own. 

She swallowed. “We…we are? Really?”

“We are.” Emma leaned in, her breath hot on Regina’s cheek. “Because I don’t trust either of us in the back of a cab.”

“There’s the…subway,” Regina squeaked.

She shook her head, “Come on Miss Mills. Go for a walk with me.”

Regina went.

She’d always been impulsive.

 

####

When Regina got back to the apartment she actually had to lean against the door and catch her breath. Her whole body was humming. She rode up the elevator staring at her grinning reflection in the mirrored surface of the doors. Every time she’d spy it she’d pull the grin into a neutral purse of the mouth. Then it’d creep up again, tugging at the corners. Her insides were being tugged at too. As if someone—something—was pulling her apart molecule by molecule.

She didn’t get giddy over affairs. Hadn’t since she was a girl and she’d kissed a stable boy in the hay. Giddiness was for idiots. Just like flowers, romance, French restaurants and **walking across bridges hand in hand**.

She wanted to groan, but then she remembered the way the other woman had looked at her and the way those kisses a hundred feet above the river had felt and—

It was an actual sigh—a tremulous **sigh** —that escaped her mouth.

She pulled at her hair so it didn’t look so disheveled and tugged at her coat to try to feel more like herself and she was almost, possibly, Regina again when Hook poked his head out of the kitchen and asked “How’d it go?”

She’d kissed the woman he “loved.” That’s how it went.

She’d kissed her and she didn’t regret it.

“It went—“

“You’re looking chipper,” he interrupted.

“I had a nice night.”

He tilted his head. “She let you tuck the boy in,” he cooed. It sounded like a jibe.

She bristled. “It’s none of your business.”

His eyes were by no means hawkish—especially as red rimmed as they were from too much alcohol—but they **were** sharp. “What happened?”

“I’m not recounting my evening for you Hook.”

“Did you talk about the book?”

She glanced down at her nails. Were they too long? They seemed too long. “We did.”

“And that’s got you happy?”

“Yes.”

His chin jutted out, “I don’t believe you.”

“And I don’t like you.”

“Just tell me—“

She pushed away from the door. “I’m going to bed Hook. We can talk about my date in the morning.” She brushed past him and went to her bedroom, peeling her coat off and kicking her boots away.

The pillow hit her in the back of the head so hard she tripped into the dresser. “The hell is your—“

“Your **date**?!” Hook was standing in the doorway, his narrow chest heaving. 

She stooped down to pick up the pillow and chucked it back at his face. “My **date**.”

He swiped it away with his hook, the tip tearing through the pricy pillow and sending stuffing flying around the room. “You can **not** date Emma Swan.”

“Because you called dibs?”

“Yes!”

“You’re a neanderthal.”

“ **And** because its unethical,” he continued.

“Since when did you have ethics?”

“Since you went on a date with the woman I love.” God he sounded like he actually believed that drivel.

Regina snorted.

“She loves me too you know.”

“Yes, something that bit of lip assault you did proved. Her knee driving into your crotch was what? Love tap?”

“She just can’t remember,” he grumbled.

“Exactly. She can’t remember. Which technically means she isn’t the same person.” She said it carefully. Like a teacher speaking to a slow student. “She’s a new person. One who likes to go on dates with me and listen to me talk about the book.”

She unclipped her earrings and lay them carefully on the dresser. Behind her Hook was now sagging against the door frame and looking whipped like a sad old dog.

“That’s not how it works,” he said feebly.

“A pirate, an artist and now you’re a philosopher?”

“Says the evil witch mayor turned writer. Emma Swan is in there. You didn’t just—you **can’t** —make a new person.”

“Yes, I can. And I have.” And Emma wasn’t the first one. She’d once made a whole **town** of new people.

“Fine.” He stood up straight again—his lips contorting into something churlish. “Then that means the boy’s her son. Not yours.”

“No, it doesn’t.”

He stepped towards her. “Yes, it does,” he shouted in exasperation.

“Henry is **my** son. And if you talked with him for even half a minute you’d know it—”

“He’s changed. Just like her.” Another step.

Regina turned her back on him entirely, fussing with her hair in the mirror before unbuttoning her blouse. “He was raised by a single mother who worked hard to keep him healthy and happy. He’s serious, kind, and intelligent.” She used their reflections to hold his gaze. “He’s the same. Emma, on the other hand, raised an infant in prison rather than give him up. **She’s** had a family for ten years versus ten months. She’s fundamentally different.”

“I suppose you could be right.” He was too close now. A bad habit of his—though one she couldn’t criticize. Neither of them seemed to understand personal space.

She spun around. “Exact—“

“She’s dating you after all.” His eyes darted to her lips. Settled there—as if he was only addressing them. “The real Swan would never do that in a million years.” He swooped in when he said “years”—close enough to kiss her if either of them had wanted it. She shoved him back.

Asshole.

He grinned, nodding at her. “And she’ll crucify you when she figures it out.”

“She can try.” She jutted her chin out for affect and crossed her arms.

Hook, maddeningly, didn’t argue. 

With a smug grin he bowed out of the bedroom, leaving her all alone. Half dressed, but completely naked.

 


End file.
